King of Scars

by Leigh Bardugo

  You are the conduit, Zoya. You will bring the Grisha back to what they were meant to be before time and tragedy corrupted their power. But only if you can open the door.

  Why me? she wondered.

  Because you chose this path. Because your king trusts you. Juris tipped his wing and wheeled back to the palace. Because you are strong enough to survive the fall.

  26

  ISAAK

  ISAAK HAD PASSED ON THE INFORMATION he’d gleaned from his conversation with Ehri, though some part of him had felt a little dirty doing it. He’d shared every detail about the Tavgharad, and sure enough, Tamar’s sources had been able to learn that one of them, a young recruit named Mayu Kir-Kaat, had a twin brother who also served in the Shu military.

  “He was stationed with a regiment in Koba,” Tamar said. “But no one seems to be able to find him.”

  “Is that bad or good?” Isaak wanted to know.

  “Good for us. Bad for our Tavgharad guard,” said Tamar. “We’ve tracked shipments of ruthenium to Koba. If her brother has been drafted into the khergud program, she may not be happy about it. Many candidates don’t survive, and those that do are much changed.”

  Isaak didn’t know a lot about the khergud soldiers, only that they were rumored to be somewhere between man and killing machine. “So if this guard Mayu is the defector,” he said, “you’ll initiate contact?”

  “It won’t be easy,” said Tolya. “The Shu guards are rarely alone. But let us focus on that.”

  Tamar agreed. “We need you at your best for your meeting with the Kerch.”

  And yet no amount of preparation could have readied Isaak for his disastrous encounter with Hiram Schenck.

  Isaak started the evening thrilled to be visiting the Gilded Bog, wondering what mad debauchery he might witness and if he’d get a glimpse of Count Kirigin’s wine cellars. They rode out with only a few soldiers, the twins, and Hiram Schenck and his guards. Despite the chill of the evening, Schenck had been giddy.

  “This is most exciting, Your Highness,” he said. “A fortuitous moment for both our countries.” He had the same ruddy coloring and auburn hair as his daughters.

  “Indeed,” said Isaak. It was a very useful word.

  The count greeted them in the gardens of his sparkling mansion, dressed in a vibrant crimson coat, the lapels studded with rubies the size of pullet eggs.

  “Delighted to have you!” he said in Ravkan. “Welcome to my little hideaway.”

  “Thank you for your hospitality,” Isaak said, as instructed. “We knew we could count on your discretion.”

  “Always,” said Kirigin. “A necessity of statecraft and seduction alike. I have sent all of my houseguests away, and the grounds are yours. When you finish with your revels, I hope you’ll come restore yourselves by my humble hearth and share a cup of something warming.” Then he cleared his throat and lowered his voice. “I sent Commander Nazyalensky an invitation to my autumn revels next week. I wonder if Your Highness might consider encouraging her to come?”

  “Of course,” said Isaak. “She isn’t currently in the capital, but I’m sure she’d be happy to join the fun.”

  Kirigin blinked. “She would?”

  “Perhaps we should be on our way, Your Highness,” interjected Tolya, shepherding Isaak away from the count, who was looking at him strangely. “They’ll be waiting for us at the lake.”

  “Did I say something wrong?” he whispered to Tolya as they rode down a gravel path lit by torches.

  “Zoya Nazyalensky isn’t happy to join Count Kirigin for anything,” said Tolya.

  Tamar gave her reins a snap. “Least of all fun.”

  Genya and David were waiting at the shores of an utterly dreary lake. They boarded a small sailing craft, a member of the Ravkan royal navy at the wheel. The night was still, and so a Squaller stood at the mast, raised his hands, and filled the sail with wind. Above them, the night sky was lit by fireworks launched from somewhere on Kirigin’s grounds. Isaak wondered who they were for if all his guests were gone, but they created a lovely atmosphere.

  The boat came to a halt, bobbing gently. He could see a variety of other vessels moored not too far away, their sails lit by lanterns. No one seemed to be aboard.

  “As you know,” said Isaak in Kerch, reciting the speech Genya and Tolya had prepared for him, “I’ve never been content with being confined to land. I have traveled the skies. I have ridden the sea. But then I began to wonder, why should the frontier that lies beneath the waves I love so well be closed to us? And so was born”—he swept his arm dramatically to port—“the izmars’ya!”

  The water beside the sailboat began to foam and surge. What looked like the back of a silver beast breached the surface. Isaak stifled a gasp. He wished the others had prepared him for the size of the thing. It dwarfed the sailboat.

  Schenck grasped the railing, trying to take it all in. “Incredible,” he said. “To think it was beneath us the whole time. Now let’s see what it can do.”

  “Of course,” said Isaak, and lifted his hand to give the signal.

  The izmars’ya descended again, vanishing beneath the surface. All was quiet, the only sound the pop and whine of fireworks dotting the sky with cascades of light.

  Then a loud boom sounded from too close by. The water next to the boat nearest them exploded in a massive plume. The sleek-looking schooner listed starboard and collapsed, the lights from the lanterns catching in its sails and setting them ablaze. The craft began to sink, taking on water at an alarming rate, as if someone had ripped its hull wide open.

  Boom. Another boat collapsed—this one a huge old galleon. Another—a tidy clipper. Even if these craft had been manned and had attempted to mount some kind of defense, there was nothing to shoot at. There was no sign of the izmars’ya, only the calm surface of the lake.

  A chill traveled through Isaak that had nothing to do with the cool night or the gloomy fog around the lakeshore. So this was why the Kerch were so eager for these underwater ships. They could strike at any time without risk to themselves—an invisible enemy. It was a frightening thought.

  Schenck was clapping his hands and whooping. “Stupendous! Better than I could have imagined. The Council will be thrilled. How long is the range? Can the missiles rupture a steel hull? What kind of fuel will we need?”

  Isaak didn’t know how to answer. No one had prepared him for this kind of interrogation. He’d thought they would just offer a demonstration and then retire to Count Kirigin’s home to warm up.

  “All in due time,” Isaak said—or would have said. But he had not gotten the first word out when the izmars’ya breached the waters next to the sailboat with an earsplitting roar. Its metal flank slammed into the sailboat, knocking Isaak and the others to the deck. Hiram Schenck screamed.

  The hull of the izmars’ya had cracked open, and the interior body of the ship was visible. It was filling with water as the crewmembers shouted and tried to pull themselves up the metal walls. There was another loud boom as its fuel tanks exploded into giant clouds of flame. Isaak heard a high whine, followed by another and then another, as the izmars’ya’s missiles shot into the night sky, joining Kirigin’s fireworks.

  A stray missile grazed one of the sailboat’s masts, snapping it in two. Isaak shoved Hiram Schenck aside before it could collapse on the merchant.

  “Get us out of here!” shouted the captain, and the Squaller filled the remaining sails with wind, driving them swiftly to shore.

  The rest of the disaster was a blur: soaked soldiers, Hiram Schenck’s hysterics, Count Kirigin calling, “Then you won’t be staying for dinner?” from the steps of his house as their party beat a hasty retreat to the palace.

  When they finally entered the king’s sitting room and Isaak stripped off his wet coat, he was prepared for a long night of strategizing and recriminations. Instead Tamar threw herself down on the couch and burst out laughing. Tolya picked up David in one arm and Genya in the other and spun them both around.
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  “Brilliant,” gasped Genya, thumping on Tolya’s shoulder so he would set her down. “A performance worthy of the too-clever fox himself.”

  “The way Schenck squealed,” crowed Tamar. “I think he may have wet himself.”

  “I almost did the same,” said Tolya. “Was the missile supposed to hit the mast?”

  “Of course it was,” David said sternly. “You said you wanted a spectacle.”

  Genya planted a kiss on his cheek and repeated, “Brilliant.”

  Isaak stared at them. “Then … that wasn’t a disaster?”

  “It was a triumph,” said Tamar.

  “I see,” said Isaak.

  “Oh, Isaak,” said Genya. “I’m so sorry. We just weren’t sure you could feign real surprise.”

  “We needed your reaction to be natural,” Tamar said.

  Tolya’s face was contrite. “We only had one chance to get this right.”

  Isaak sat down on the couch. “Damn it.”

  “We’re sorry,” Genya said, crouching at his knee and looking up at him imploringly. “Truly.”

  “Can you forgive us?” asked Tolya.

  “I was just so excited,” Isaak said. He pulled off his left boot and watched it spill what looked like half a lake onto the carpet. “Finally something went wrong and I had nothing to do with it.”

  27

  NIKOLAI

  THE NIGHT BEFORE THE RITUAL, Nikolai sat with Zoya in front of the fire in his chambers. Yuri had retired early to pray.

  The fire in the grate was wholly unnecessary. The Fold was neither hot nor cold—weather would have required some kind of change in the punishing monotony of this place. But the flames were all they had for entertainment, and Nikolai was in desperate need of distraction.

  He had insisted he was ready for the ritual. Elizaveta had wanted to delay for a few more days so he could solidify his control, but Nikolai was unwilling to risk it. He needed to get back to the capital. But it was more than that. He could sense the monster getting stronger with every day, and he suspected that it had become easier to make his demon rise because it wanted to stretch its wings. It could taste the possibility of freedom.

  “Just a little longer,” Elizaveta had said.

  But Nikolai had held firm. “Tomorrow,” he’d told her. Or whatever passed for tomorrow in this cursed place.

  He had never wished for sleep more, for some relief from thoughts of the challenge to come. He could sense the monster waiting. Somehow it knew that tomorrow they would face each other, and it was ready. Its anticipation was more frightening than the fact that he would have to drive a thorn through his chest in a matter of hours. Nikolai craved a glass of wine desperately. No, skip the glass. He’d go straight to the bottle.

  But there was no wine to be had. No food to fill a plate. He was hungry and yet his stomach never growled. He was thirsty and yet his mouth was never dry.

  Nikolai watched Zoya watching the flames. She flexed her fingers, and the sparks leapt. He still could not quite fathom what Juris had taught her in this short time. She wore the same clothes she’d worn the morning they’d disappeared, though the roughspun cloak had long since been discarded. He was grateful for the familiarity of the deep blue silk of her kefta.

  She sat with a knee tucked up, one cheek resting against it. Nikolai realized he’d never seen her look so at ease. At court, Zoya always moved with grace, her steps smooth, her gaze sharp and unforgiving as the blade of a knife. But he realized now it was the grace of an actress on the stage. She was always performing, always on guard. Even with him.

  Nikolai released a startled laugh, and she glanced over at him. “What is it?”

  He shook his head. “I think I’m jealous.”

  “Of what?”

  “A dragon.”

  “Don’t let Juris hear that. He thinks enough of himself as it is.”

  “He should. He can fly and breathe fire, and he’s probably got piles of gold stashed somewhere.”

  “That’s an unfair cliché. It could very well be jewels.”

  “And he made you look like that.”

  Zoya raised a brow. “Like what precisely?”

  “Comfortable.”

  Zoya’s back straightened, and he felt tremendous regret at seeing her armor lock back into place.

  After a minute she asked, “What do you think will happen when we leave this place?”

  “Hopefully not too many things will be on fire.”

  Zoya sighed. “David and Kuwei have been left unattended too long. For all we know they’ve blown up half the capital.”

  “That is worryingly plausible,” admitted Nikolai. He scrubbed a hand over his head. Red wine. White wine. That drink made with fermented cherries he’d tried at the Crow Club. Anything for a little respite, a night of real rest. Not even Genya’s sleeping concoction worked here. It just made his mind sluggish. “I don’t know what we’ll find. I don’t even know who I’ll be tomorrow.”

  “You will be who you were always meant to be. Ravka’s king.”

  Maybe, he thought. Or maybe it will be left to you to set Ravka to rights.

  He removed a folded document from his pocket and placed it beside her hand.

  She picked it up and turned it over, frowning at the wax seal he’d impressed with his signet ring. “What is this?”

  “Don’t worry, I haven’t written you a love letter.” She turned her face to the fire. Was even the mention of love too much for Zoya’s ruthless sensibilities? “This is a royal order declaring you Ravka’s protector and making you commander of both the First and Second Armies.”

  She stared at him. “Have you lost your wits entirely?”

  “I’m trying to do the responsible thing. I think it’s giving me indigestion.”

  Zoya tossed the letter to the floor as if the paper had singed her fingers. “You don’t think you’re going to survive tomorrow.”

  “Ravka’s hopes shouldn’t live and die with me.”

  “So you’re pinning them on me instead?”

  “You are one of the most powerful Grisha the world has ever known, Zoya. If anyone can protect Ravka, it’s you.”

  “And if I tell you I don’t want the job?”

  “We both know better. And did I mention the position comes with some truly spectacular sapphires?” Nikolai rested his hands on his knees. “If the twins and the Triumvirate weren’t able to hide our disappearance, Ravka may already be in turmoil. We both know it’s possible I won’t survive the ritual and someone will have to restore order. Every man and woman who claims to have a drop of Lantsov blood will make a bid for the throne, and our enemies will seize the chance to tear the country apart. Pick one of the pretenders to back, the smartest or the most charming or—”

  “The most easily controlled?”

  “You see? You were made for this. Rally the Grisha. Try to save our people.”

  Zoya gazed into the fire, her expression troubled. “Why is it so easy for you to contemplate your death?”

  “I’d rather look at a thing squarely than let it catch me by surprise.” He grinned. “Don’t tell me you’d miss me.”

  Zoya looked away again. “I suppose the world would be less interesting without you in it. I wouldn’t let myself be drowned in amber for just anyone, you know.”

  “I’m touched,” he said. And he was. It was the closest thing to a compliment she’d ever given him.

  She drew a slender chain from the neck of her kefta and pulled it over her head. The key she had used for his shackles. She dangled it from her finger. “We won’t ever need this again after tomorrow.”

  He took it from her, feeling the weight of it in his palm. The metal was warm from her skin. He hadn’t missed their nightly ceremony, but he’d missed having an excuse to talk to her each evening and each morning. He supposed that would be at an end now too.

  Nikolai hesitated. He wasn’t anxious to spoil her goodwill. “Your amplifier…” Zoya’s hand twitched, and he knew she was
resisting the urge to touch her bare wrist. “Will you tell me how you got it?”

  “Why does it matter?”

  “I don’t know that it does.” But he wanted to know. He wanted to sit here and listen to her talk. For all the time they’d spent together, Zoya was still a mystery to him. This might be his last chance to unravel her.

  She smoothed the silk of her kefta over her knees. He thought she might not speak, just sit there, silent as a stone until he gave up waiting. Zoya was perfectly capable of it. But at last she said, “I was thirteen. I had been at the Little Palace for almost five years. The Darkling took a group of Grisha to Tsibeya. There were rumors the white tigers of Ilmisk had returned, and he suspected at least one of them was an amplifier.”

  “Near the permafrost?”

  “A little farther south. I was the youngest of the group and so proud to be chosen to go. I was half in love with him already. I lived for the rare moments he appeared at the school.” She shook her head. “I was the best, and I wanted him to see that … The older Grisha were all in contention for the amplifier. It was up to them to track the tigers and see who would earn the right to the kill. They followed a female for nearly a week and cornered her in the woods near Chernast, but she somehow escaped their grasp.”

  Zoya wrapped her arms around her legs. “She left her cubs. Abandoned the three of them. The Darkling’s men penned them in a cage so the Grisha could squabble over who deserved their teeth the most. All night we could hear the mother prowling the perimeter of the camp, snarling and yowling. My friends talked about going into the dark to pursue her. I knew they were all bluster, but I couldn’t stop thinking about the cubs. So when the camp was asleep, I created a distraction for the guards by knocking over one of the tents with a gust of wind, and I chased the cubs out of the cage. They were so little,” she said with the smallest smile. “They couldn’t really run, only roll a bit, stumble, right themselves. I just kept them moving away from the camp. Saints, I was scared.” Her eyes were far away now, as if looking into that long-ago night. “We were still in sight of the torches when I realized I wasn’t alone.”